“You’re always there for us.” Oakley cocked her head and looked at her. “You know it took five of us together to do what you do every year? You’re basically superhuman.”
Halia shrugged. “I don’t have kids. It’s easier for me.”
“You might not be a mother, but you definitely have kids.” Oakley looked out across the grass at the dozens of kids who ran between the treats and the games. Half of them had come through A Place of Refuge with their mothers at some point in time. “Look at this. You’re a cornerstone of the community, and the bedrock of this family.”
Halia nodded her acknowledgement; she didn’t know what to say to that.
“We all rely on you,” Oakley continued. “And if that trust ever makes it look like we take you for granted, I’m sorry. I hope you know that we’re here for you too.”
Halia nodded. “I know.”
“Okay. Well. I’d better get back to the coffee stand.”
“Thanks.”
Halia leaned back in her chair and gazed out at the festivities.
It was like a preview of old age: being too old to take part, but feeling the satisfaction of having built something that would endure.
She smiled when she spotted Ikaika running a giant ring toss game with hula hoops and traffic cones. He had followed through on the internship he requested, and he was taking a fair amount of repetitive administrative work off of her plate. Although he never came to A Place of Refuge, he had teamed up with a friend of his to offer free activities at the community center on Saturdays.
There must be two hundred people there, but every face wasfamiliar to her. Dozens of former residents were there, either running games or just attending the festivities with their kids. Laurie had her own tent, with tables full of books for sale. Akemi was chasing Kaleo across the grass. Pete and his cousins were running wild with their friends.
Juniper, the young mother who sold jewel-bright herbal teas at the farmers markets, walked across the lawn and offered Halia a glass of her royal purple tea made with hibiscus and butterfly pea.
“Are you thirsty, auntie?”
Halia accepted the drink with a word of thanks.
“Thank you for bringing this together.” Juniper gestured off to the right, where her son was running with his dad. “Wilder’s having the time of his life.”
“Thanks for running a stand.”
Juniper beamed. “I’m happy to chip in. It makes me feel like I’m really a part of things here.”
“Of course you’re a part of Pualena. You’re raising your son here.”
“Thanks, auntie.” The young woman smiled, misty-eyed. “I should get back.”
Halia nodded and watched her go.
For decades, most of Pualena’s young adults had moved away to places with more opportunities. She was glad to see young people choosing to put roots down on the island – especially her own sisters. Having them back was healing something in her that she had never admitted was broken.
Without realizing it was happening, Halia nodded off there in the shade.
She woke with a start when a hand touched her shoulder.
“It’s just me,” Dawn said.
Halia blinked blearily and nodded.
“I think it’s time to go.” Her adoptive mother put a hand on her forehead, making Halia feel like a kid again. “I’ll drive you home.”
“I guess this thing can run without me.”
“Only because you’ve been running it so well for the past twenty years. Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Halia heaved herself up from the chair and ambled across the lawn to the parking lot. Before she climbed into Dawn’s car, she took one last look back at her community. Maybe it was just the exhaustion making her oversensitive – but looking at her sisters running around, keeping everything going, brought tears of happiness to her eyes.
